


Dangle Your Heart, I'll Give You Mine

by eternal_optimist



Category: The Vampire Diaries (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Greek Mythology, Aphrodite! Katherine, F/M, I'm Bad At Tagging, Nike! Caroline, Warrior! Klaus
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-27
Updated: 2017-06-27
Packaged: 2018-11-19 17:06:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11317854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eternal_optimist/pseuds/eternal_optimist
Summary: The men and women in armour smile, enchanted by the prospect of eternal, guaranteed victory, and he wants to scoff at their ridiculousness. There is no need for blessings or otherwise, not when they are the fighters, the slayers, those who endure while the immortals each sit upon their mighty throne.He doesn’t pay any attention to anything after; his mind consumed by an itch in his hand, the desire to hold a sword as he usually did and-“May the fittest be the winner.”What is love if not a battle to be lost or won?





	Dangle Your Heart, I'll Give You Mine

**Author's Note:**

> For creatureintree for their donation to the klarolinegivesback event.
> 
> Thank to garglyswoof for beta work

It is time. The horns echo through every corner of the grand city, signaling the beginning of the festivities that are to come. People from everywhere come out, excitement shining in their eyes. Children, women and men alike rushing to the main square in haste.

Atop the Olympic mountain, the gods watch. Those whose tasks ended for the season seek entertainment from this latest affair in the mortal land, while others return to their realms; the celebrations of humans too beneath them.

Looking on from her window, she inspects the scene with careful eyes, her mind already envisioning all the days ahead of her.

“I do hope some of them are pretty,” Katherine says from besides her, idly picking at her nails.

She chuckles lowly at her friend’s antics, inwardly hoping that her disastrous troubles haven’t decided to follow this season.

“You’re not allowed to seduce any of them,” she reprimands and her friend actually pouts at that, mirth dancing in the brown of her eyes.

“You’re no fun,” Katherine admonishes.

Her mouth opens, a retort hovering on the tip of her tongue when a knock resonates on the door.

A guard enters, his metal armour gleaming in the reflected light, and bows his head in respect. “My goddess, everything is ready.”

Her back straightens in acute awareness. “So am I.”

* * *

He’s often dreamt of the carnage of battle, the ever-flowing blood, the clash of swords and irons on the battlefield where only the fittest and strongest survived. Has wondered how it would feel when everything has died down and he’d bask in the epicness of it all.

In his daydreams, the images of his family would always follow. The pride of conquest carried on his shoulder as he entered the village, center of everyone’s attention, becoming everything his father so cruelly denied when he was a child, so innocent and pure. If only that boy could see him now.

But none of his musings had ever included being paraded around, people from every age screaming and cheering, giddiness and anticipation doubling the force of their claps.

Every now and then, he catches sight of one of his fellow warriors discreetly talking to his or her mother, a soft smile on said woman’s lips as she fondly encourages her child. For a moment his heart clenches, wishing for Rebekah and Henrik and Kol - no, not his mother, never his mother - to see him now.

The march stops in front of a golden temple. The door opens and from within two ladies walk out, one considerably in front of the other.

Enthusiastic shouts of “Caroline!” come from the crowds, and the soldiers at the goddess’s sides signal their spears in respect. Quiet spreads when the blonde-headed woman raises her hands.

“As it has been the tradition for thousands of years, since the beginning of dawn, the time has come for one warrior to be honoured with the gift of the gods. I, goddess of victory, shall bestow my blessing upon one soul from now til his or her last breath.”

If possible, the cheers rise to louder levels than before, until Klaus is sure that the citizens of the Olympic realms can hear.

The men and women in armour smile, enchanted by the prospect of eternal, guaranteed victory, and he wants to scoff at their ridiculousness. There is no need for blessings or otherwise, not when they are the fighters, the slayers, those who endure while the immortals each sit upon their mighty throne.

He doesn’t pay any attention to anything after; his mind consumed by an itch in his hand, the desire to hold a sword as he usually did and-

“May the fittest be the winner.”

* * *

She has seen things beyond the capabilities of man. Monstrous, inhuman things, blood and fire mixed together, and yet it never fails to amaze her: the determination of the chosen warriors as they work for her gift.

It’s beautiful to watch, even if inevitably they sell their soul, believing that there’s nothing more precious or valuable than her bestowal.

The morning sun is just perfect, not too hot nor too cold, and a soft breeze passes through the vast halls of the temple. She hums under her breath, allowing her mind to wander for a few seconds.

She hears harsh, labored breaths from not too far away, can feel the determination behind each step and her curiosity sparks; boredom and desire to know those who dare choose her temple to train in.

Her footsteps are light and subtle even as she strides to the open space that hangs below the domed arch of her temple. Whomever is there doesn’t take notice of her approaching, not that she wants him to.

Hiding behind one of the columns, she discreetly watches as a man swings about his blade with sharp finesse, eyes blazing with concentration. Each movement she could see disarming his opponents easily.

He stops, beads of sweat rolling over his forehead, and sheathes his blade. Moments pass and every little thing that could’ve been moved even an inch he returns to its place, all the while her eyes following his figure, wondering how such a skilled warrior has not sensed her presence.

Her question is answered almost instantly when his head turns to where she stands. He doesn’t bat an eye nor does he bow or do anything to show his respect. But it does not bother her, neither does it distract her from memorizing every single scar on his face, instinct fueling her inspection.

“None of the warriors are to train here,” she says.

The man in front shrugs, his hand adjusting the straps of the dagger’s sheath strapped to his belt. “My apologies, I wasn’t aware that this is a restricted area.”

His voice is smooth, not as harsh as she expects it to be, lilting and powerful at the same time. The tendrils of curiosity continue to rise within her but she squashes them down. Such a dangerous thing curiosity is.

“It’s not. Simply it has been so long since someone came here to train that it is a surprise to see you.”

“You speak as if you own this place.” There’s bit of a question in his words, as if he suspects who she is but is still unsure.

“Caroline,” she introduces by way of explanation, lips stretched in a small smile, no formalities or titles necessary.

“Call me Klaus.” There’s smugness and arrogance that she can detect but it only adds another piece to the puzzle the man in front of her seems to be - and she knows he is, can sense it beneath perfect layers of charm and skill - and she’d love nothing more than to fit it together.  

* * *

“You’re doing it all wrong.” He hears Caroline say, coolness lacing her voice. His eyebrows arch up, part incredulity at her statement and part surprise at her sudden appearance, wondering what game the little goddess seems to be playing with him.

“What exactly am I doing wrong?”

“Holding the sword for sure.” She rolls her eyes and he blanches, taken aback by how ridiculous the sentence sounds, as if he wasn’t a man who held weapons in his hands for more than half his life.

Anger bubbles in his chest at the condescension he feels pointed towards him. “I think given my expertise, I am more than capable of handling a sword.”

“Of course darling, however I meant in this position.” Seeing his dubious expression as a reply, she continues, “I know what I’m speaking of, you don’t become the goddess of victory by wearing pretty dresses all day.”

Striding to where some swords are placed on the wall, Caroline takes one out of its holder. He studies her stance cautiously as she twirls the blade with precision, managing to block her hit just in time, but only barely.

“Next time, move your leg an inch to the front,” she orders authoritatively. Out of the desire to prove her instruction unnecessary, he obeys, becoming surprised as he manages to block her much more thoroughly than during his first attempt. As if knowing what he has been thinking, a taunting smirk appears briefly on her lips, though she seems satisfied with goading him with her gestures, no verbal taunts to accompany.

Feeling his blood rush through his veins in excitement, he steps forward again, delighting in his opponent’s slightly shocked face; the force of his blow making her step back. They continue on like that, and in mere moments they are engaging in a full-on duel.

His thoughts return to what she said last and inquisitively he asks, “You can become a god?”

Caroline pauses, not returning another hit as she seemingly ponders how to best respond. “Yes, you can,” she says at last, hesitancy present in her voice. “Why, would you like to be one?”

It’s an intriguing prospect he’ll admit, to become someone who people equally worshipped and feared, the power…

“Maybe, maybe not,” he answers vaguely, secretly wondering if Caroline can sense his thoughts, can taste the imaginary tinge of blood that threatens to consume him. Blinking away his thoughts he refocuses his attention back to methodically trading hits with her, and Caroline doesn’t say anything else.

* * *

It doesn’t take long for them to meet again, no duels or weapons present, just company for the other, and Caroline doesn’t want to think of the implications of this - of what all these moments mean. She simply closes her eyes, lying down on her stomach with her head resting on her arms. Klaus is not too far a distance from her, looking at her in contemplation.

“Do you care for a walk?” Her eyes snap open and she angles her head to better look at him. Klaus stares back at her, waiting for a response.

“Are you trying to woo me?” There’s a vibration of a laugh accompanying her question, like the prospect is utterly insane, which after her very long life she assumes it is.

“What if I am?”

At that she sits up from her laid-out position, mirroring Klaus’s posture. His eyes aren’t hard - not the hardness of a soldier - but neither are they soft, tension and weariness flickering every now and then in their corners.

She smiles, amused. “If you were, I’d tell you that whatever it is you wish to acquire would demand far less effort than ‘wooing’ me would.”

Surprise appears on his features. “You think I want something from you?”

“Not really, no. I can see you that you’re not here for the same reason as everyone else. However, your motives are unknown at the moment so you’ll have to excuse my probing.”

“So suspicious.”

A small laugh finds its way out of her unwillingly. “Well if everyone was so careless, life would’ve ended long ago, wouldn’t you agree?”

He laughs as well. “I suppose.”

* * *

One walk turns into two and then into three and then it’s a road to endless infinity. And he, he has no idea what to make of the fact that the color of her eyes is the only thing he can see in his sleep, that the sound of her laughter has become something akin to ambrosia, delicious and addictive.

His train of thought is broken as he senses an incoming attack from his partner, the tip of her sword scratching his tunic.

“You’re distracted today,” she remarks. When she receives no answer, a touch of concern sparks in her voice. “Klaus. Are you alright?”

“I fancy you,” he blurts out. He cringes in embarrassment after, unwilling to believe that he’s made such a fool of himself - a slip of a tongue and he destroys all that he and Caroline have managed to build between them.

Stupid, stupid fool.

Caroline’s eyes widen exceptionally, lashes blinking and mouth open and he feels her trying to comprehend his declaration. “What?”

“You’re beautiful,” he continues, unable to repeat the last three words - he’s speaking on instinct and if he stops for a moment, he fears for the result. “You’re strong, you’re full of light. I enjoy you.”

It’s terribly frightening, these moments he waits, feeling the strain of his baited breath as he watches different emotions reflect in the deep blue of Caroline’s eyes.

“Victory is alluring, Klaus, and so seductive. It can swallow you whole.” Warnings are plastered over all over her words, and Klaus almost snorts, thinking that Caroline doesn’t know him so well after all, as if she wouldn’t be his just as much as he is hers.

“If I want it, then it won’t be as dangerous to me as it is to most.”

She doesn’t refute what he says.

* * *

“I thought that seducing any of the warriors was not allowed.” Katherine says smugly.

Even though her nerves tense, muscles coiled and spine straightened, her expression doesn’t falter nor does she fall prey to the trap her friend thought she carefully laid.

“There is none.”

She’s daring Katherine now to speak one more word, wonders if the brunette is so entangled in her pitiful attempts that she would dare challenge her. She might be love and beauty, but Caroline is victory and what is love if not a battle to be lost or won?

“Be careful, darling. The other gods are watching.”

The doors shut after Katherine’s retreating figure, leaving Caroline’s internal reflections for company. And they all come to one thing. One name.

Klaus.

Her fearless, powerful warrior who has managed to sink below her skin, carving a place in her immortal life. She can still sense the barely restrained darkness in him even amongst his honeyed words and sunshine-like caresses. He is a monster, just like her, just like the rest of the world.

She will never, ever give him up. That she swears. World be damned.

And so war dances with victory. Hand in hand. 

**Author's Note:**

> Don't hesitate to tell me what you thought, I am really excited to hear what you have to say.


End file.
